


Captain Chris and the Fantastic Fourth Wall

by merisunshine36



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merisunshine36/pseuds/merisunshine36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Pike finds out that playing the damsel in distress in the 23rd Century is not all it's cracked up to be. But at least it still comes with an awesome fairy godmother...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Chris and the Fantastic Fourth Wall

Knowing that something terrible is about to happen doesn't make the reality any easier to deal with.

Pike lies in stasis, his memories quivering and sliding against each other as he stares hopelessly at the bulkhead of the _Narada_. There is a slow drip of water like torture in his ears; it's almost worse than the sharp bite of the restraints cutting off the circulation to his arms and the persistent burn at the back of his throat.

His childhood in Mojave seems like yesterday, and the few moments he spent at the helm of the _Enterprise_ is the stuff of ancient lore. As the slug roots around among the ladder-rungs of his vertebrae, Chris realizes that he forgot to mail his mother's birthday gift this morning. It's still sitting on the kitchen table of the house he rents, a fluffy old Victorian affair characterized by large rectangular windows and sharp clean lines obscured by the curlicued embellishments running riot across the facade. It belongs to an elderly couple on a three-year pleasure cruise to Uranus and back; he found it dirt cheap on Craigslist but is content to let the rank and file think he owns it.

He hopes someone will get in and strip the bed before the owners return. Kirk had shown up on his doorstep the night before his disciplinary hearing all sulky neediness and barely checked sexual energy, and Chris hadn't known whether to put his lights out or just ride him, slow and easy, until he loosened his grip on that temper of his. He'd settled for a little of both, with results skewed significantly towards the latter.

The lights above his head flicker in and out, and he can't tell whether his eyes are going or it's just the electrical systems malfunctioning. He asks his mother to forgive him for forgetting her birthday, then braces himself as the darkness closes in on him, cool and rough and nothing at all like he imagined death would be.

A dim splashing reaches his ears, and the little bit of fight he has left in him kicks its way back to the surface. His right foot twitches weakly against the platform; it's all he can manage at the moment.

“Captain Pike! I'm so glad I found you.”

“Lieutenant Uhura? What the hell are you doing here?”

She's in uniform, phaser strapped to her hip, face sweaty and streaked with dirt. She's a vision.

“What? You think that Kirk is the only one who can conduct a rescue mission?”

He frowns—he's pretty sure that comment was out of line. But he's not in top condition and the thoughts in his head are like a school of fish, their normal order and precision splitting into a thousand pieces the moment he gets too close.

She reaches across him and unbuckles his restraints, her long ponytail tickling his nose. He sits up quickly and drops to the ground, surprised to find his legs holding steady beneath him after the initial rush of blood back to his extremities. Uhura leads him through a doorway he could have sworn wasn't there before, picking her way nimbly across the scattered debris, phaser at the ready.

This is all too easy. There's something not quite right with this. Chris is trying to put all of the pieces together when he passes through the doorway and--

They're on the stairway leading to his kitchen. Everything is just as he left it--the enormous range he hardly uses, the espresso machine worth every single one of the obscene number of credits he shelled out for it. On the table sits the tiny package of heirloom tomato seeds he weaseled away from the neighbor to send to his mother.

Well, at least he'll get to change those sheets now.

Chris stumbles downstairs into the kitchen proper. He's no longer in uniform, but a faded blue t-shirt that he's pretty sure belongs to Jim because it's too tight across the chest. The jeans fit all right, resting easy on his hips, but the fly is still open. His fingers make quick work of the zipper, and the familiar motion grounds him again.

A warm hand comes down onto his shoulder and he jerks backward, hand going automatically to his left hip only to find nothing but air.

“Coffee?”

It's Uhura again. Chris resolves not to think too hard about where she came from. Or where he came from, for that matter. Her dark hair floats in soft curls about her shoulders, and she's wearing some kind of airy, shiny _thing_ that is supposed to be a dress but merely looks like someone wrapped her in white spun sugar. Dumbly, he takes the mug from her hands, and the sharp tang of caffeine grounds him once again.

The coffee is hot and perfect. Too perfect. He makes a noise of frustration and sets the mug down on the counter with a little too much force, liquid sloshing over the rim.

“Lieutenant, I need you to tell me exactly what is going on here. Five minutes ago I was being tortured to death by a Romulan in the middle of a serious psychotic break, and now I'm in my kitchen drinking La Colombe? Not that I'm complaining, but I think I missed a memo somewhere.”

She draws herself up, a commanding presence even in four-inch heels. “Captain Pike, I regret to inform you that...you died back there.”

Dead? Well, fuck. He always expected it would come in the line of duty, he just didn't think it would happen so soon. He pauses to examine his surroundings, and finds nothing out of order. Same blue-gray walls, same obnoxious knickknack shelf full of cultural paraphernalia from across the galaxy.

“So this is the afterlife? Eternity in a house I found on Craigslist? What a letdown.”

Relieved that he doesn't seem to be upset, her stance loosens a little. “It's also a problem. You're supposed to be alive. And as your Guide, I'm here to help you return to the land of the corporeal.”

“Excuse me?”

Uhura lowers her own mug, taking a moment to wipe the corner of her mouth with one perfectly manicured finger. “Your Guide. A physical manifestation of your subconscious intended to get you where you need to go. It's like the politically correct version of a fairy godmother.”

_That dress she's wearing sure ain't politically correct_, he thinks, gaze trailing down to where it ends abruptly at mid-thigh, revealing a smooth expanse of flawless skin.

Uhura bristles all over. “You think I decided to wear this? This is _your_ subconscious.”

He decides he's going to take the rampant insubordination in this world in stride. There are more important matters at hand, namely, “You can hear my thoughts?”

“I can't _hear_ them, I _am_ them. You needed me, and so here I am. You really screwed up back there with the whole dying thing, and I am here to fix it.”

Chris looks slightly incredulous. “I screwed up? Nero doesn't get to take any of the blame?”

“He's just doing his part. You, on the other hand, were supposed to hang on nobly until the cavalry arrives.”

Chris shakes his head in confusion. “I'm _supposed_ to?”

“Yep. Dying was so not in the script.” She pulls a PADD from thin air, and begins scrolling through the pages. “Suffering, suffering, torture, suffering....Ah ha! Here it is. And I quote: “_Summoning his last ounce of strength, Pike manages to UNHOLSTER KIRK'S PHASER AND BLASTS THE FOUR GUARDS OUT OF EXISTENCE!_” She looks more than a little smug. “See? So very not dead.”

That doesn't sound too bad, come to think of it. Chris squints at the screen. “What happens next?”

She snaps her fingers and the PADD disappears into null space once again. “I'm not authorized to divulge anything other than your scenes. And by the way, I'll need you to keep pretending that you don't know whether or not Kirk survived that jump. So try to look surprised when he shows up for your rescue scene. Which by the way, you end up looking really good in. Captain.”

* * *

  
After their little coffee klatsch is over, Uhura spends twenty minutes locked away in the bathroom allegedly updating the mysterious Powers that Be that are running this game. Chris secretly thinks she's fixing her hair, but uses the time to make a quick dash into the bedroom so he can strip the bed of sheets that still smell of stale sex and dump them into the washer. If he doesn't make it back, he wants to be remembered as a good tenant at the very least.

And then they set off for....somewhere. Chris tries not to chafe too much at having to follow a wet behind the ears lieutenant around like a lost puppy, but he's soon distracted by the changing landscape, which no longer looks like San Francisco. Around a corner is the block he biked past on his way to high school, over a hill is the strip that housed the seedy little motel where he stayed during a particularly memorable spring break vacation to Risa.

“What's up with the scenery?” he asks.

“The universe doesn't know what to do with you. You're out of place right now, and the physical environment is a reflection of that.”

Of course it is. The way she says it makes him feel like that should have been obvious from the outset.

Chris considers himself to be in pretty good shape, but is surprised at the pace Uhura is keeping in her rather unorthodox footwear. He feels the tiniest bit guilty about her attire, since it's apparently generated by the part of his subconscious that is still sixteen.

“Lieutenant Uhura?”

“Captain?” she pauses, only slightly winded as they crest the peak of yet another hill.

“Where are we going?”

“We're going back,” she replies, deftly picking her way around a pothole before resuming her earlier pace. “To figure out whatever it is that made you check out like that.”

“Couldn't I just do this going back thing myself?”

Uhura stops to consider this, her nose scrunched up in thought. “Perhaps, but then I'd have to give up all the extra credits I'm going to make by participating in this little venture. You get hazard pay for taking an assignment on the other side of the fourth wall, did you know that?”

Chris remembers when he used to pool together the paltry sum he earned while a lieutenant with a couple of other folks he knew, so that they could take turns going on the most ridiculously expensive shore leave adventures imaginable. “So what's our destination?”

Her gaze is pinned to the horizon, mouth set in a determined line. “The Wizard.”

The Wizard. Right.

  


* * *

  
The first stop on their journey is in a dingy little dive bar located just off the Academy campus. It's completely empty save for two people sharing a booth in the back corner. The jarring strains of whatever techno-pop is popular these days plays in the background. Two heads of dark hair are bent closely over the vidscreen embedded into the table. Chris recognizes them immediately, and shakes his head in amusement as he slides into the other side of the booth.

“Captain,” Spock says by way of greeting. “I am pleased that you've made it this far.”

Number One is intent on the screen, which currently displays an image from one of those soft-porn games where you have to find all the differences between two pictures. The current challenge takes the form of a scantily clad Deltan male, and according to the monitor, she has fifteen seconds to discover the remaining discrepancy in the two images.

“I can't believe that it's one of you playing the wizard in this charade. But if I had to pick, my money's on you, One.” Chris puts a finger on the screen near the boy's foot, and a flashing yellow circle appears around it. “This one was missing a toe.”

Number One narrows her eyes at him. “You wish it would be so easy. He's the scientist, I'm the knight.” She favors Spock with a tilt of her head, a lock of thick black hair falling into her eyes. Chris tamps down on the urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. “Although Spock took issue with the role he was assigned.”

“Vulcan telepathic ability bears a significant number of parallels to the recurring concepts of magic and wizardry within traditional Earth folklore,” he insists.

“Defend your position. Send 'em something,” Chris jerks a thumb upwards to indicate whatever mysterious forces are pulling his strings in all of this. “A few thousand words should do the trick.”

Spock's eyebrows draw together slightly as he ponders this option. “I shall take your suggestion under advisement.” Chris can already see him composing his opening argument.

“Not to offend, but I don't see any rocks that need turning into gold or dragons to be slain. Why are you guys here, anyway?”

Number One leans forward, resting her arms on the scratched and pitted surface of the table. “Strategy and tactics. You currently have no information in your possession that would lead you closer to the Wizard, am I correct?”

He is not going to respond to that smug look on her face. Is. Not. “You've made your point, Number One. Go on.”

“If you want to get any further, you'll need our advice. Commander Spock, would you present the visual we have prepared?”

Spock produces a holocube, which projects a series of graphs and schematics onto the wall. He opens his mouth to speak, and Chris holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“Hold it, hold it—I'm sure you spent hours preparing this, and believe me, I'm grateful. But according to Lieutenant Uhura, I have 47 minutes in the film until I'm due to be rescued. So how about you just give me the essentials?”

Simultaneously, Number One and Spock deflate a little.

“You are experiencing residual trauma due to the events you experienced during your time on the _Kelvin_,” she begins.

“To be precise, stressors encountered on the _Narada_ triggered a flashback to the _Kelvin_ disaster,” Spock clarifies. “In combination with the powerful toxins excreted by the creature currently inhabiting your body, this generated a psychosomatic reaction so strong that your major organs were no longer able to function. In that moment, Captain, you ceased to exist.”

Spock's words cut like a knife. The _Kelvin_\--he thought he'd moved on from that. His leg starts to jiggle nervously beneath the table until Number One's booted foot presses lightly against his, a silent gesture of reassurance. “In that case, who should I visit?”

“Our instructions indicate that you must be absolved of your guilt by the Goddess.” Spock states this in the same tone of voice a doctor would use to suggest plenty of rest and increased fluid intake.

“The Goddess,” Chris deadpans. This just keeps getting better and better. “And who would that be?”

Number One's mouth goes a little soft around the edges, and he chafes at the thought that she might be pitying him. “There's only one person who it even could be, Chris.”

Okay, he had definitely seen this coming.

“It's Winona, right?”

Spock looks faintly pleased that he was able to figure it out so quickly. “Captain Pike, it would be most efficient for you to allow me to assist you in locating Commander Kirk within your subconscious via mind-meld...”

  


* * *

  
When Chris opens his eyes again, the smoky smell of the bar has cleared away and he's standing at the entrance to the dorm he lived in during his third year in the Academy.

“They couldn't get more heavy-handed with the subtext, could they?” Chris says, wearing his sarcasm as mask for the oil-slick feeling festering in the pit of his stomach. “Hangups about being in Starfleet, regrets about my youth...”

Uhura shrugs. “They're trying to make a point. And judging from your reaction, sir, I'd say they were pretty successful.”

She reaches out to brush an imaginary piece of lint off his collar, which is now bright red...along with the rest of his cadet uniform. Chris tries not to roll his eyes.

His feet carry him back to his dorm room like it was yesterday. He bypasses the lift and jogs up the stairs to the third floor, right wing, fourth room on the left. The halls possess an eerie silence that drives home the fact that he's somewhere that is very much Not Normal, something made more apparent when the door anticipates his arrival and slides open with an expectant swish.

“Hey, Chris.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but his mind has been reformatted and wiped clean.

“Hey.” He sounds a little stupid, but it's the best he can do at the moment.

Chris hasn't seen Winona in twenty-five years, ever since he staggered out of the Kelvin's emergency shuttle, traumatized and wracked with guilt, and threw up on the docking platform at Starbase 23. He had been one of a thousand grunts down in tactical, but when the evacuation order went out over the comm, was the only one who headed towards the bridge instead of away. A Vulcan ensign named T'Vala delivered a swift pinch to his neck just before he made it to the turbolift, and hauled him off the ship to safety. He hated her for it.

“Hey kid, what's shakin'?” Winona sits up on the narrow bed she occupies and favors him with a slow half-grin. “Come sit next to me for a minute.”

Chris is glad for the invitation, as he's shaky and unstable like an arch with the keystone removed. Winona stares at the standard-issue quilt, idly picking at the seams. They used to sit like this all the time, him and George and Winona, unraveling navigation problem sets and lab reports for organic chem.

“So I hear you're taking care of my kid now.” Her expression turns evil. “In more ways than one.”

He's simultaneously relieved and anxious about the irreverent way she's handling this. “I always meant to get in touch, Winona. After, I mean. It's just that...I couldn't...”

She draws him into an embrace, and he closes his eyes against her shoulder, breathing in the sunshine-scent of her hair while going to pieces in her arms. Quite suddenly, he feels like that clueless kid he used to be all those years ago.

“It's not your fault, Chris.”

“I tried to get up there, 'Nona.” His voice breaks as the tears come hot and sharp at the corners of his eyes. "I swear I did.”

She just holds him tighter, her breath tickling softly in his ear. “We all have our regrets, Chris. Don't let this be yours.”

He's still trying to figure out if she's talking about her husband or her son when she hauls him up with surprising and otherworldly strength, then ushers him into the doorway in the corner of the room.

It's wholly unsurprising at this point that the door leads not to the bathroom that was supposed to be there, but to the dusty ass backward middle of nowhere, in front of a single house with warped siding badly in need of replacement. For the first time in this entire bizarre adventure, Chris is totally lost.

“Well, this is it. The Wizard.” Uhura appears at his side, still sparkling and pristine against the drab landscape.

“How do you keep doing that?” he asks, trying to go for humor while he gathers himself back into one piece.

“Industry secret.” She gives him a cryptic smile, then pulls out a communicator and checks the time. “This is far as I go, O Captain, my Captain. Spock's about to go risk his life for Kirk and country; I'll need to be around to cheer him on.”

“Wait, but I don't--”

A sudden wind picks up, tossing dirt in his eyes and momentarily blinding him. When he's able to put his hand down again, she's gone.

_Well, she definitely gets points for flair_, Chris thinks. He notes that he's in command gold again, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his uniform trousers.

A coltish young girl comes barreling out of the front door and vaults into his arms. She's heavier than she looks, and after a few seconds of his muscles screaming in protest, they both go crashing to the ground. She frowns for a moment, but it quickly transforms into a blinding white smile.

“Pike! You came!”

“And you are....” Her little face crumples, and Chris feels like he just ran over her puppy.

“Jeez, Pike,” comes a voice from above. “You must really be getting old if you can't recognize Enterprise when you see her.”

Jim drops to the ground next to them. “So. Did you figure it out yet?”

Enterprise flings her arms wide. “Ta-da! I'm the Wizard! I can send you back!”

“Okay...,” Pike begins hesitantly. “So I've found you, what happens now?”

Jim looks at the ground, the house, his hands—at everything but Chris. “You have to pick. Me, or her. It's the cost of getting back.”

He looks at Jim as if he's sprouted a second head. “What the hell kind of half-cracked premise is this? You or the _Enterprise_? I enlisted in Starfleet, not the Intergalactic Fairy Tale Corps.”

Enterprise throws her arms around his neck. “Sorry, Pike. It's the rules.”

“Do you even know how long I waited for you?” he says into her shoulder, his voice muffled. He wants to punch something, but there's nothing for miles around except for that damn house, and he's got a lap full of adolescent girl to boot. He shakes his head, trying to clear out the ringing in his ears.

Jim rests his chin on Chris' shoulder like some overgrown Labrador. “When she's mine, I promise I'll let you fly her sometime.”

Enterprise scrambles off his lap and bookends him from the other side, her silvery eyes large and solemn.

Chris winds his fingers between Jim's, looking for something to justify the incredibly stupid thing he's about to do. He traces Jim's life line absentmindedly with his thumb, back and forth, back and forth.

“Uhura mentioned something earlier about you coming back to rescue me. I expect you to follow through on that, you know.” The minute the words have left his mouth, he feels embarrassed.

Jim sighs against Chris' shoulder, but doesn't say anything. And what is there to say, even? That ship was Chris' entire reason for living, and already it's slipping through his fingers.

“I hate you, you know that? I should have left you on that barroom floor.”

Jim's bright laughter rings out against the empty landscape, and he places a sloppy kiss against the side of Chris' neck. “Yeah, I love you too, old man.”

* * *

  
Chris returns to his body with all the grace of a piano falling out of a window. His eyes burn, and he can't catch his breath. There a few moments where it's touch and go, his heart and lungs racing to keep the rest of him in working in order. As he starts to feel more like himself again, he attempts to sit up, forgetting that he's trussed tight as a pig at a luau. Sizzling pain burns a path down his spine to his waist, below which he feels nothing at all.

Booted footsteps come running toward him, and he braces himself for the oncoming phaser blast. But when it hits, he only hears the grunt of a Romulan guard as he drops to the ground, dead.

Jim's sweaty face appears in his line of sight, and Chris blurts the first thing that comes to mind, forgetting everything ever told to him regarding his dramatic rescue scene.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just following orders,” Jim replies with a wink.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the "fairy tale" challenge at st_respect and betaed by leftarrow.
> 
> Characters featured within are the property of Paramount, CBS, and JJ Abrams; I am making no money from this creative venture.


End file.
